It was the first day of March. For every other tribe in Gator Bay, this may hold no real significance. But for the Lake Tribe, this was a day of celebration. Claus sprung up as the jarring war cries filled the camp. Soups were brewing and the wafting smells of freshly cooked meat filled the air. Claus had only been with the Lake Tribe for two years now and was enraptured by the rituals associated with this day. He hopped out of his bed and threw on an over-sized, button-down shirt, stuffing his small Kukri knife in his pocket.
It had been 50 years since the Calamity, in 2023. Claus was too young have been around during these times. But, he remembers stories from the scholars. They speak of times when they were young, when there was a five-year-long world war. Claus remembers most of what the scholars have told him, but there are many things they don’t know either. They don’t come from the Lake Tribe or know of their mystery. The scholars are outsiders and will never truly experience the rituals.
Today was no different. Claus slumped to the door and peered outside at the madness. He loved it. He wished to be more involved and add to the ceremonies. Alas, he knew this was a mere dream. Claus had just been traded from the Fertility Tribe to the Lake Tribe after finding the negative results of his fertility test. However new he was, Claus still had the opportunity to pick their newest sacrifice. Every tribe member had their name put into a bowl, whichever one was picked, gave the recipient the right to choose Lucky’s next victim.
Claus had attended the celebration two years prior, but failed to be chosen. With his scrawny stature, he was unable to even witness the kill. No matter what tree he climbed or boulder he sat on, the main event was always blocked from his view. The closest he could get was the aftermath. Once the crowd parted, the giant, albino alligator would sit complacently in the lake, dripping blood down his chin. It was a stark contrast to the course skin, devoid of all color. This year, Claus was determined to witness it all first-hand.
Claus walked towards the center of the tribe, with a spring in his step. The trotted-on grass held members of the tribe as far as the eye could see. Even the few trees that were left in the area had children and adults alike, swinging from the branches to see the action. He eagerly awaited the ceremonial selection. One of the elders approached a podium, adorned in the royal gray cloth of their tribe. He stuck a withered hand into the pot, pulling out a single slip of paper. The roars of his people grew louder, bellowing across the lake. “Please let it be me. Just once I’d like the chance to prove my dedication to the tribe, “Claus pleaded.
“Claus Keller. Congratulations, “The elder yelled.
The crowed roared in admonishment, with stomping and beating of the chest.
“Please retrieve your chosen kill within two weeks’ time.”
Claus couldn’t believe his luck. Me? After only two years of being in the tribe?
He ran to his father, weaving through the pit of unwashed, dirty mouths, screaming of the rigged pick. His feet kicked up dirt in a whirlwind, as he scurried away from the center of the tribe. His vison began to focus in on a man in scuffed brown clothing and long gray beard. Claus began to yell, “Fath-“.
Before he could continue, a cloth bag was placed over his head. Claus fought to pull it off, but his attacker was too strong and quickly overpowered him. He could feel the grass brush against his legs and the voices begin to fade. Who is this? I don’t have any enemies. Where could they even be taking me? I need to get help before its too late.
As he began to scream for help, warm breath assaulted his ear, “Say one word and I’ll slam you over the head with my Bat.” Claus simply nodded in return.
As his attacker slowed down, Claus felt himself being dragged to his knees. His arms were firmed gripped and tied up behind him, to a tree. “Sleep here tonight and I’ll explain it all in the morning,” the mysterious figure retorted. As the footsteps faded away, Claus reached for his Kurkri. Sawing through vigorously, it began to break through the layers until the rope collapsed on the ground.
Claus stood up and ripped the bag off his head. Glancing around, he recognized nothing. There was an old woman, perhaps 65 years old at most sitting closely by a small fire. The woman had no identifying marks, with old ripped clothing, like his own, and a no insignia of a specific tribe. Claus snuck around her, gripping the Kurki tight.
He took a sweeping glance around his surroundings, but saw no difference in the four directions. Shrubs, bushes, and overgrown plant-life covered the ground. Hanging a left, he sprinted across the forest until he came upon a mental sign glinting off the moonlight, stating ‘Bay Beach Wildlife Sanctuary’. Claus had never been to this side of the area before, but had been warned of its dangers since he was a child. Several mutated animals called the sanctuary home, although they grew to almost four times the size after the war.
It was then, in the distance, Claus heard something stomping on grass. It could have been a deer, or even a squirrel, but Claus wasn’t willing to take that chance. He backtracked to the fire, running through the forest at top-speed, until he collided and firmly hit the ground.
Claus looked up and saw the woman sprawled out on the floor. Gathering herself back up, she rose saying, “Hear me out. I need a favor. I need to be sacrificed to Lucky.”
It had been 50 years since the Calamity, in 2023. Claus was too young have been around during these times. But, he remembers stories from the scholars. They speak of times when they were young, when there was a five-year-long world war. Claus remembers most of what the scholars have told him, but there are many things they don’t know either. They don’t come from the Lake Tribe or know of their mystery. The scholars are outsiders and will never truly experience the rituals.
Today was no different. Claus slumped to the door and peered outside at the madness. He loved it. He wished to be more involved and add to the ceremonies. Alas, he knew this was a mere dream. Claus had just been traded from the Fertility Tribe to the Lake Tribe after finding the negative results of his fertility test. However new he was, Claus still had the opportunity to pick their newest sacrifice. Every tribe member had their name put into a bowl, whichever one was picked, gave the recipient the right to choose Lucky’s next victim.
Claus had attended the celebration two years prior, but failed to be chosen. With his scrawny stature, he was unable to even witness the kill. No matter what tree he climbed or boulder he sat on, the main event was always blocked from his view. The closest he could get was the aftermath. Once the crowd parted, the giant, albino alligator would sit complacently in the lake, dripping blood down his chin. It was a stark contrast to the course skin, devoid of all color. This year, Claus was determined to witness it all first-hand.
Claus walked towards the center of the tribe, with a spring in his step. The trotted-on grass held members of the tribe as far as the eye could see. Even the few trees that were left in the area had children and adults alike, swinging from the branches to see the action. He eagerly awaited the ceremonial selection. One of the elders approached a podium, adorned in the royal gray cloth of their tribe. He stuck a withered hand into the pot, pulling out a single slip of paper. The roars of his people grew louder, bellowing across the lake. “Please let it be me. Just once I’d like the chance to prove my dedication to the tribe, “Claus pleaded.
“Claus Keller. Congratulations, “The elder yelled.
The crowed roared in admonishment, with stomping and beating of the chest.
“Please retrieve your chosen kill within two weeks’ time.”
Claus couldn’t believe his luck. Me? After only two years of being in the tribe?
He ran to his father, weaving through the pit of unwashed, dirty mouths, screaming of the rigged pick. His feet kicked up dirt in a whirlwind, as he scurried away from the center of the tribe. His vison began to focus in on a man in scuffed brown clothing and long gray beard. Claus began to yell, “Fath-“.
Before he could continue, a cloth bag was placed over his head. Claus fought to pull it off, but his attacker was too strong and quickly overpowered him. He could feel the grass brush against his legs and the voices begin to fade. Who is this? I don’t have any enemies. Where could they even be taking me? I need to get help before its too late.
As he began to scream for help, warm breath assaulted his ear, “Say one word and I’ll slam you over the head with my Bat.” Claus simply nodded in return.
As his attacker slowed down, Claus felt himself being dragged to his knees. His arms were firmed gripped and tied up behind him, to a tree. “Sleep here tonight and I’ll explain it all in the morning,” the mysterious figure retorted. As the footsteps faded away, Claus reached for his Kurkri. Sawing through vigorously, it began to break through the layers until the rope collapsed on the ground.
Claus stood up and ripped the bag off his head. Glancing around, he recognized nothing. There was an old woman, perhaps 65 years old at most sitting closely by a small fire. The woman had no identifying marks, with old ripped clothing, like his own, and a no insignia of a specific tribe. Claus snuck around her, gripping the Kurki tight.
He took a sweeping glance around his surroundings, but saw no difference in the four directions. Shrubs, bushes, and overgrown plant-life covered the ground. Hanging a left, he sprinted across the forest until he came upon a mental sign glinting off the moonlight, stating ‘Bay Beach Wildlife Sanctuary’. Claus had never been to this side of the area before, but had been warned of its dangers since he was a child. Several mutated animals called the sanctuary home, although they grew to almost four times the size after the war.
It was then, in the distance, Claus heard something stomping on grass. It could have been a deer, or even a squirrel, but Claus wasn’t willing to take that chance. He backtracked to the fire, running through the forest at top-speed, until he collided and firmly hit the ground.
Claus looked up and saw the woman sprawled out on the floor. Gathering herself back up, she rose saying, “Hear me out. I need a favor. I need to be sacrificed to Lucky.”